“You’re not broken.”
Three words that changed everything for me.
For many of us, those words cracked open a door we didn’t even know we were banging on.
We had spent years, perhaps decades, internalising every failure, every missed deadline, every relationship breakdown as evidence that we were fundamentally flawed.
Lazy.
Disorganised.
Self-sabotaging.
A disappointment.
So when the ADHD diagnosis finally came—whether early, late, or painfully overdue—it arrived like a pardon.
“You’re not broken.”
And for a while, that was enough.
But then it wasn’t.
At some point, the mantra that set you free starts to feel like a script you can’t evolve past. It was never supposed to be a destination—just a doorway. But it calcifies. It sedates. And then it traps you.
We confuse validation with progress.
We confuse being seen with being moved.
And we build echo chambers of safety that quietly stall us in place.
“You’re not broken” is a necessary truth. But if it becomes the only truth we cling to, we stay in the wreckage, waiting for someone else to rebuild the structure.
The danger of only being understood
I’ve watched it happen again and again - in myself, in clients, in communities:
- We trade pathologisation for identity, but then identity becomes a fortress.
- We seek compassionate spaces and accidentally turn them into cul-de-sacs - safe, but going nowhere.
- We learn to name the problem with beautiful precision but fail to activate the solution with messy imperfection.
Because here’s the uncomfortable truth:
Insight is not activation.
Validation is not traction.
Diagnosis is not direction.
The new architecture: Where healing ends and building begins
Let me be clear: the problem isn’t kindness. The problem is stalling in kindness that no longer serves growth.
Validation was never meant to replace scaffolding. It was meant to precede it.
Here’s the trajectory I’ve mapped—not as a theory, but from lived experience:
It’s not that you’re broken. It’s that you’re not done.
You don’t need to be fixed.
But you do need frameworks that work for you - not because you’re disordered, but because your brain is wired for a different kind of traction.
You do need structure that bends around your dopamine loops, not ones that shatter every time executive function falters.
You do need friction - not resistance, but grip. A way to move, not just reflect.
Because knowing isn’t enough. Knowing is only step one.
And if you’ve made it this far in your journey, chances are you’ve done the hard work of knowing.
So let’s stop pretending we’re still broken just to justify staying in one place.
You’re not broken.
But you might be stuck.
And staying stuck in a space designed for healing—while refusing to move into building—is just another form of self-erasure.
What comes next?
Systems. Structure. Strategy. Activation.
Not for the sake of conformity.
But so you can stop performing survival and start embodying traction.